Pugilist nose

At the start of the walk the fly
Danced around a pugilist nose
In clear geography of a gray sky
With no rain, only a promise.
It seems raining in the other sky.
Will the clouds turn rain like flies?
In the sky is a swarm of doubts
That will soon turn flies, flies
Buzzing around a walking nose.
But now the sky is the other sky.
As I reach the end of the walk
The nose is fighting rain like flies.

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